


Aftermath

by TheSolarSurfer



Category: Avengers, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon Rewrite, Clint Barton's Farm, F/M, Family Feels, I did not like that scene, Red Room, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, so its different now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSolarSurfer/pseuds/TheSolarSurfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewrite of the farmhouse scene between Bruce and Nat. Less cringey dialogue, better character development. Nat won't be defined by the Red Room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I should start out by saying that Bruce/Nat is not my favorite pairing, and I would’ve like AOU more had it not been in the movie, but for the sake of this scene, I’ll go with it, and maybe tune it in a way that I can gel with. I should also add I have no idea what this scene is called in the movie, so this is the title I’m going with until I can come up with something better

**Aftermath**

* * *

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again. Relived it.

The Red Room.

The cold metal of the gurney. The handcuff around her wrist. The sleepless nights filled with the crying and screams as the weak succumbed.

Natasha massaged her left hand, still feeling that nervous ache of something forgotten, something missed. Even years later, after she got away, after she chose a new path, Natasha had to remind herself she didn’t need it. They weren’t in control anymore.

...Well, it was easier said than done. After that witch fucked with her brain, Natasha felt as though she had been sling-shot a decade back, when she was still struggling to sleep every night. When she could hardly think without see their faces, hearing the whispers, urging her to come back. To come _home_.

All that progress. Gone.

A door opening jolted her back to the present. Natasha found herself in the same place she had been sitting for the past thirty minutes: the bed, in the guestroom of Clint’s favorite safe house. It was Natasha’s, too. But she had never shared the bed with someone else before last night.

She snapped her head up, watching silently as Banner - no, Bruce - walked out, damp and smelling like shampoo. Steam wafted in around his feet, and although he looked somewhat refreshed, nothing seemed capable of ridding the man the bags under his eyes. Bruce Banner looked far older than he had any right to be.

When Natasha stood up (perhaps a little too quickly), he did a double-take. Still rubbing a towel over his head, Bruce stuttered, “Oh...I, uh, I didn’t realize you were waiting.”

An easy smile played on her lips, to ease his nerves. Bruce was always a nervous man, and sometimes Natasha felt even her own fine-tuned charm couldn’t soothe. “I would’ve joined you but, ah, it didn’t seem like the right time.”

“I used up all the hot water.” He said, a little embarrassed, like her little flirt just went right over his head. It probably did.

She just shrugged. “Shoulda joined you.”

“Missed our window.” He chuckled, smiling awkwardly in that way he did that she found kind of cute in a way few men could manage.

Natasha pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows at him. “Did we?”

Bruce held her gaze for only a few moments before dropping his head, fiddling with his towel and focusing on the floor.

A pregnant pause fell between them.

It was clear to both adults that they were just dancing about the issue. While Natasha was carefully navigating for a smooth entry point to bring up the elephant in the room, Bruce was driving wildly around it, and she wasn’t sure he even wanted to discuss it at all.

Bruce was the first to break the silence, deciding to move from the doorway and grab a shirt. “The world just saw the Hulk. The real Hulk, for the first time.”

...Okay, not the _best_ change in topic. No segue? No quip? Even the honesty-is-the-best-policy-quoting Steve Rogers could’ve handled this better.

Natasha decided not to critique his skill. At least they were getting closer, and she didn’t have to bring the Topic (capitalizing seemed appropriate at this junction) up first.. Even though  it meant Bruce achieving it by driving a semi into it.

Now to the meat of the subject: was he talking about his actions in Wakanda, fueled by the witch’s magic? Did he think that was his true self? Natasha wasn’t sure where he was getting at.

She decided to remain silent until Bruce spelled it out plainly. “You know I have to leave.”

“You assume that I have to stay?” she cut in, a little too fast. Natasha stepped forward, frowning. She knew Bruce had a point; the Hulk _was_ dangerous, no matter what kind of anger fueled him. Natasha was also fully aware that Bruce was angry right now - all the time - and somehow he still managed to hold the Other Guy back.

That invisible threat loomed in the distance. When Bruce Banner lost control - _really_ lost control, not compelled to by someone else, but where he loses himself, and maybe...maybe he doesn’t come back.

Not even Stark was brave enough to broach that idea.

“I had this, um, dream,” Natasha started slowly, the truth making her voice waver a little. It wasn’t that she was self-conscious; she wasn’t even sure what that felt like anymore. No, it was uncertainty, a strangeness she couldn’t quite comprehend, as is per usual when you live in a world filled with superheroes, aliens, and megalomaniacal robots bent on world domination. “The kind that seems normal at the time, but when you wake…”

Bruce shook his head slightly, taking a half-step forward. “What did you dream?”

“That I was an Avenger,” Natasha tilted her head slightly, enraptured by the idea. It was so romantic, she felt silly for admitting it. She sounded like Sam, or maybe Steve before SHIELD fell apart. Wanting so desperately to be the hero, to have purpose, that one forgot what it meant when you had to make sacrifices. To kill people.

That she was anything more than the assassin the Red Room churned out.

Bruce, too, tilted his head, although he seemed more confused by this. “But...you _are_ an Avenger. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Natasha almost sighed, nearly rolled her eyes. This was not a man who understood subtext in the spoken word. Before, she though it only pertained to flirtation, but clearly this doctor had been away from civilization a little too long.

“You know what I mean.” she said, crossing her arms, pressing the folded towel to her chest. This was a defensive posture, she knew, an amateur move, one made in vulnerability, but she hoped Bruce wouldn’t notice. Or rather, she trusted him not to use it against her. “I wasn’t made for this.”

Bruce raised his chin slightly, finally understanding. His look was sympathetic, almost amused - perhaps not expecting this from her. Not surprising, since she rarely shared this much with anyone at all. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

How much did he know? Natasha was pretty sure Bruce had read SHIELD’s file on her, what information they had collected over the years. But it was hardly a complete biography. Even if Natasha herself had written it, she would’ve left so much out. Man was not meant to know what really happened to the little girls that were sent into the Red Room.

No, he couldn’t know. And she wouldn’t discuss it if he did.

Natasha sighed, a little relieved at his naivete. “And here I thought that was your job.”

Bruce smiled, but it was faint, wavering. In a second, it was gone again, replaced by a frown. He stepped away from her. “What’re we doing?”

Natasha didn’t know what he meant, but went with the best answer. “Whatever we want.”

“No, I mean,” he sighed, shaking his head, then gestured between to two of them. “Us. Why?”

“Why what?” Nat shot back at him, keeping her tone carefully neutral. She could see this heading, finally, in the way that she wanted. She just had to coax it out of Bruce first.

“Why are you risking yourself?” he asked, voice getting a little stronger as they finally confronted the Topic. “With me? Are you out of your mind?”   

Natasha had to restrain herself from making a face that might sour this conversation. What was _that_ supposed to mean? Was he questioning her judgement, her sanity? Based on what, whoever she decided to have dalliance with? Did he think she completely forgot about the danger because of her _feelings_? Please.

A burst of self-righteous anger sparked in her gut, but it didn’t stop her from maintaining an even, if earnest tone. “I know exactly what I’m getting into. I’m not afraid of you. I know you’re not a threat to me.”

She spoke plainly, surely, so that Bruce would understand. As a woman of sound mind and body, Natasha was not the kind to get into any situation without considering all her options first. Sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. This kind, though, Natasha Romanov knew exactly what she wanted.

Bruce, however, did not.

“You sure?” He said, stepping into the middle of the room, holding out his arms as though taking it in. “Even if I didn’t just...there’s no future with me.”  

“I’m not here for your future. I’m not here for mine,” Nat’s voice was sharp, sharp enough to have them both go silent for a moment. She appraised his reaction, his surprise, before taking a deep breath and speaking in a measured tone. “I’m not - I never went in this for the long term. You don’t get that option in my line of business. Avenger, assassin, it's the same way no matter what I chose. I’m with you for the now, for what fun we can have before the world ends. Because I like you. And because, yeah, I’m not afraid of you, no matter what you say.”

“But, I can’t ever…” his arms dropped to his sides, defeated yet still trying to fight for something. The look Bruce gave her spoke of a deep-seated pain, of something he’s thought about over and over, a regret over a choice he never got to make in the first place. “I’ve wanted a family. Maybe it’s me being naive, but before the Other Guy, it was just something I knew I wanted. Someday. I never thought that it’d just be...it’d be taken away.”

Then he just laughed, a short, humorless laugh. “You know what, never mind. You wouldn’t understand. Just forget it.”

It occurred to Natasha, in the back of her mind, that this was their first argument. Like a real, honest to God argument that could actually threaten the existence of something she wanted, something that she’d fight for. It was a little incredible, really. Is this what being a normal couple felt like?

Hmm, maybe not.

“I didn’t get that choice, either,” Natasha said, tone cold as more images flashed in her head. The music, the routines, the dancing, the perfect synchronizing. The gun in her hand, the skin under her nails. The ribbons and pink chiffon, a pretty mask to hide a rotten truth. “I grew up, trained, in the Red Room. A place where they don’t ask you before they put a gun in your hand. Where they don’t care if you can’t sleep because they’ve chained you to the bed -- they just wait until you’re so exhausted, that your body doesn’t care anymore. And for the graduation ceremony, they sterilize you. It’s efficient.”

She shrugged, a coy smile on her lips as though this were little more than a funny story. “One less thing to worry about. Nothing that can get in the way of a mission. All makes it easier to kill, I guess. You don’t have family in the Red Room, or outside of it. Remind you that you aren’t human. That you can’t have a family.”

Bruce just stood there, stunned into speechlessness.

Natasha herself was starting to question her sanity; maybe he was right - what the hell was she thinking, just blurting this stuff out? Not even Clint knew this much about her, and she both knew and trusted him more than anyone else on this godforsaken team.

She was already regretting it when Bruce finally said, “Natasha, I’m...just, wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t know...and I didn’t mean to say that y-you didn’t want... I just meant….that you never, uh….”

Bruce trailed off, his stuttering coming to an end as he finally realized how much of his own foot he was eating. It took him a moment to recover from the faux pas (which Natasha allowed, because she was feeling charitable this morning), and he finally finished. “I...I didn’t know about the Red Room. That you couldn’t have a family, either.”

Natasha set her shoulders. “I _have_ a family. The Avengers are my family. By extension, that means you, too.”

Bruce flushed, ducking his head in embarrassment. For a man who hid his anger so well, everything else was an open book. “But what you said, a-about...”

“I can’t change what the Red Room did to me,” Natasha said, her tone soft but stern, for his benefit. “But I can choose who I want to be. And I became an agent so other girls didn’t end up like me. And I became an Avenger because I found a world worth fighting for. A world you helped me see.”

“...Oh.” was all he could say, shoulders deflating at the compliment. She saw relief in Bruce, an empathy and happiness that meant this was an argument successfully navigated with some good-old-fashioned gut-spilling.   
  
(Nat was more familiar with the more bloody version of said gut-spilling, but this worked out just as well, if not better).

“And I’m asking you,” Natasha added, starting to smile a little as she stepped closer, and this time he didn’t shy away again. “That, when this is all over, if you want to see that world with me. Together.”

“Together, as in…” he raised an eyebrow as the space between them closed. “Just us?”

“Well, we can invite Stark, too, if you like,” she smirked, tilting her face up so their noses almost touched. “You know how he gets when he’s not invited.”

“I-I’m sure he’ll get over it.” Bruce smile was a little nervous, but genuine, and Natasha was pleased to see his wry humor had returned. “We can just disappear.”

She pecked him on the lips, quick and teasing. “I like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, from watching the original scene, I’m pretty sure the intended theme of the conversation was ‘family/life outside of being an Avenger’, which is implied by the life Clint has there, as well as the talk of kids, etc. I tried to make it more on point, so the audience can understand, as well as get rid of the weird implications of Nat being a ‘monster’ because she can’t have kids. And by ‘get rid of’, I mean ‘hammer in the point until it becomes redundant’ because audiences are stupid and, as from what Joss Whedon exemplified with the movie, it’s really easy for people to misinterpret your work if you’re not careful.


End file.
